Ανγελιкцϛ

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And there was war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon,

and the dragon and his angels fought back.

Apocalypse 12:7

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Thema The wet cobblestones glittered under the street lamps of the via Tunica that late winter night at the Vatican City. The persistent drizzle and wind bending his hat brim, prevented the priest from looking straight forward as he walked the deserted alley. “April showers may come your way…, like clockwork!” the priest thought walking in the rain and trying to secure his hat with one hand while grasping his raincoat lapels closed with the other, in a not-too-successful attempt to guard his chest from the nippy droplets. Inconvenient as it may have seemed, he didn’t mind the downpour at all; actually, he was amused looking at the reflection of the lamplights and the waves of distortion caused on every step he took through the countless tiny puddles as he crossed the passageway communicating the Piazza of the Roman Protomartyrs with the Piazza of the Santo Uffizio. Halfway along the narrow street, he noticed a long stretching shadow emerging at the corner of the Teutonic College and Cemetery. Reverend Paoletti instinctively raised his head and saw a tall individual standing by the entrance to the piazza on which opposite site stood its namesake building, the Palace of the Holy Office. He couldn’t distinguish any features on the figure, obscured as it was by the gleaming backdrop combination of misty rain and street illumination, but his unique aura stood out, radiating him with a sense of peace and confidence, as well as the certainty that no harm was forthcoming. Without stopping or even slowing his pace, he approached the aural individual trying to discern his facial characteristics and what seemed, for a brief moment, the tips of feathered wings behind his shoulders. It was until he was within a few feet from him that Joseph finally recognized the stranger, when the figure wearing a heavy trail duster, spread it half open to block the light emanating from behind and that up to that point had kept the priest

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dazzled. It was Patriel, the angel that saved both his life and John’s less than two months before in Israel. “Hello , out for a breath of fresh air?” the angel asked with a broad and warm smile on his face. “Patriel! Is it really you? Boy am I glad to see you! I was beginning to wonder if you were just an object of my imagination cooked under Megiddo’s sun. What are you doing here?” The priest embraced his savior and in an afterthought, added, “On second thought, who cares what you are doing here. After all, this is the Vatican; you probably frequent this city a lot, eh?” “No, not that much Joseph, though I must confess, last year was five hundred years since my last visit to the city. I came on that occasion to witness the inauguration of some frescoes.” “1512? You mean Michelangelo’s work at the Sistine?” Joseph questioned, truly interested. Patriel nodded and said, “You know? Let’s walk to your office, we need to confer and I would appreciate a mug of hot Italian chocolate from your prelacy.” “Great idea, let’s walk and on our way allow me to ask you a few questions.” With the angel nodding, Joseph fired away “How is it that you appeared just in the nick of time that day atop Mount Megiddo? Were you tailing us or the demon? Did you become visible or teleport at will? How is it possible that…” The angel warmly patted the priest on the back and holding his index finger close to his mouth, silenced Joseph to answer, “We will have more than enough time to talk about the things you need to know and are able to understand. Enough to say, as I told you on that occasion, I was assigned to you by the Archangel Barachiel. I am your guardian angel. I have always been at your side, but we are all invisible and inaudible to you and mankind in general, on account of your own free will, as you well know.”

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The priest nodded in agreement and asked “So you have never advised me or comforted me in my times of need?” “No direct counseling, but gently reminding you with subtle signs of your true nature, so you could follow your heart. As for comforting you, can you really say that you never felt comforted or accompanied in your times of need?” “I guess I have, but always attributed it to my faith.” “Faith is what we are left with, when everything else seems lost,” Patriel said and added “But rest assured that more than once I have embraced you in my wings.” The priest smiled and pointed to the lighted window on the third floor of the palace and cheerfully announced, “That’s me up there, let’s get those hot chocolates.” After they entered the premise and ascended the stairs, Patriel continued “In answer to your second question, no, I was not tailing the demon, I was accompanying you as I do most of the time, but particularly when you embark on your frequent investigations, so luckily enough for you and John, I happened to be by your side at that time, so I only had to transubstantiate to lend you guys a hand. And just before you ask, given the way you are looking at me, let me assure you. We are substance in this realm and ours, and while we can transubstantiate, we cannot teleport within this realm at will, though we can use doors between our kingdoms.” “Worm holes?” Joseph asked. “Yes, you could call them that. They are everywhere, only too tiny to be seen or used by mankind. Nevertheless, some of our elders and we as guardian angels can and do. We travel within kingdoms increasing their vortexes.” “Can you use them for time travel too or only to move between dimensions or kingdoms as you described?” “Mostly dimensions; time travel is only to the future and that is rarely allowed. I think that is all you need to know for now, Joseph,” Patriel said and waited for the priest to finish unlocking the heavy ancient door in front of them.

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“All I need to know? Well I guess it is okay for our first round only. Anyway, thank you and please, be welcome,” Joseph invited the angel to enter and extending his arm opened the door to his guest. Once inside the priest’s studio-office in the old palace, long before used as the seat of the Holy Inquisition, Patriel stood for some time gazing at the inner courtyard while the reverend having the chocolates almost ready, was sprinkling cinnamon on the steaming beverages. “I discovered this cinnamon in Veracruz — it’s the best in the world they say. I was in Mexico doing some research on apocalyptic signs, when on my return from the Yucatan; I came across it at Los Arcos Café. Remarkable delicate flavor!” “Yes, I remember that trip, the Maya calendar no-show. Actually, this is partly why I am visiting here with you tonight. Have you drawn any other conclusions from it? Any new lines of investigation?” the angel bluntly asked without turning away from his window sight. The priest suddenly made the connection. The longhaired archaeologist was actually Patriel. Less tanned, thinner, clean-shaven and styling shorter hair, but the same person nonetheless. “Holy mother! You are Patricio, the INAH scientist who was with us in Chichén-Itzá. I remember now; you were using a very peculiar last name, something having to do with heaven or angels or something along those lines, what was it?” The angel responded rather indifferent “Angeles,” and asked Joseph again “So what else do you know about the end of times, padre?” Smiling happily for the new found memories but sensing no other reaction over their past encounter was forthcoming, the priest extended a steaming mug to the angel, warning, “Be careful, is boiling hot, Patriel,” but to the man’s surprise, by the end of his warning, the angel had already half emptied his drink on a single gulp, and without any visible reaction to its scorching content. “Or not,” Joseph whispered as he

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sat and extended his arm, inviting Patriel to do the same and join him on the second leather sofa chair, also nicely facing the wrought iron chimney. “The end of times, eh? Let me see,” the priest sighed and attempted a coherent response “There are several interpretations ranging from scripture to scientific theories.” Radio Vatican began to play softly in the background the first strings —violins and violoncellos— of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture, filling with sound the book-crammed space, while the two friends listened and stared momentarily at the fire and its wobbling flames, licking the wood with crackling gusto only to vanish once separated from their wooden birth, leaving behind but the red-hot glowing niches carving the logs piled inside the old fire place, standing as old as the overture itself and modestly cornered in the studio office. “Go on, please,” Patriel requested the priest to continue, noticing he seemed absorbed trying to order his thoughts to answer the question properly. “The end of times is different from the end of the world, you know, eh?” Joseph asked to an approving angel, and confident with this initial reaction, started unfolding his response. “Okay. In any case, there is still a long time to go before it actually happens. Though there is no agreement as to the order of events. In the Christian tradition, after the time of tribulation which I reckon is now, there is still a thousand years of peace and enlightenment before Judgment Day,” the priest academically said reaching into his coat pocket for his wrinkled pack of cigarettes. Pulling a twisted one, he lit it up, smoked and continued. “On the other hand, and as far as I know, even though there are multiple theories ranging from a single universe to a multitude of serial or parallel universes or multiverse, the scientific community seems to agree in the acceleration of our ever-expanding universe.” When Joseph paused to exhale another long, thin, yet widening line of smoke, Patriel extended his arm casually capturing it, and

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turned it into a globe of grayish fumes with the simple twist of his hand. To the priest’s amazement, and solely twirling his finger, the angel soon had the ghostly orb revolving on its own axis over the coffee table and slowly beginning to display, an ethereal image of a spherical universe teeming with galaxies, nebulae and all the proper celestial bodies one might imagine. Impressed by the angel’s handling of the ethereal smoke and staring at the miraculous spectacle, the reverend continued with his assertion, “Whether this acceleration is still inertia from the original Big Bang or black matter pulling it apart until it ruptures the whole contraption apart, it will certainly mark the end not only of space, but time itself.” The smoked universe subtly outburst its boundaries, and broke apart at the simple finger-snapping command from Patriel. “We don’t know just when yet, but it’ll certainly take longer, much longer to occur than a mere millennia.” “Well, you know? Don’t worry padre, your sun surely won’t survive that long either,” Patriel said with a smirk on his face and fanning his hand to disperse what was left of the smoky representation. The reverend smiled back at the angel’s smart but somber humor, which was pretty much his own, and added “Or our planet, at the rate we are consuming it.” Soft laughter shared by the man and angel attested to a now flourishing friendship between the two kindred spirits. Looking at Joseph reaching for the pot to refill his mug with the aromatic hot beverage, Patriel suddenly remembered his own mug sitting on the coffee table, and seeing that it was already half empty, decided to gulp the rest of its content before readdressing the question. “Okay, professor, did you finally sort out what really happened in the year 2012?” “Once again, I suppose you are referring to our adventure regarding the Mayan long count calendar, eh?” Joseph finished filling his mug and offered with a pouring gesture to do the same for Patriel, who having devoured his own was

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now extending his mug in acceptance. The priest, smiling at his friend childish likings, but somehow disappointed by the memories of that seemingly unremarkable night, answered the question after he finished serving his guest. “Another superstitious story, I guess.” “Not all of it is baseless superstition padre,” the angel responded. “I am glad you know your ABCs on the subject at hand and approach it scientifically; nevertheless, you will have to remember some of your theological training in order to understand what has been happening since that night and conceptualize it from a holistic point of view. After all my mere existence proves…” “Wait! Please,” the priest paused Patriel, gently touching his arm and using a few seconds to place the empty pot on the table. He then took a long look at the angel and said, “Proves that having you here…in front of me…a real, hot-chocolate-drinking, tangible, interacting angel and asking me such questions, it does means that it may all well be for real. Dear God! Just to contemplate the possibility of its veracity makes me shiver.” Patriel patted twice Joseph’s hand and said, “The future hasn’t been written yet, padre.” “Ufff!” exhaled Joseph authentically relieved. “But…” Patriel interrupted, “we are approaching a time of trial and sacrifice and you people will have to rise up to the challenge. That is of course, if all of you, as creation, are up to it.” The reverend sank in his sofa and took another cigarette, while the angel commenced his diatribe. “We are facing a two-tier challenge. The first one pretty much your own, is that your world as you know it is about to reach its tipping point. Earth can no longer sustain your staggeringly excessive ways and once it tips over, well, I won’t bother you with the details of the ensuing cataclysmic shift —we can go see a dozen movies about that. In the long run the

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planet will heal itself but not before dealing with the main cause of its ailment.” “Mankind,” the reverend interrupted as Patriel assented. “Fortunately, this still can be avoided and in a minor part has already been pushed further into the future as a result of a new terrestrial awareness and agreement to act upon it.” “I didn’t think angels were worried about climate change and were here to help,” Joseph interrupted, but was cut short by Patriel. “We are not. The way you treat the realm under your care is and always will be the result of your own free will. That’s part of your purpose in life: care for others and reach for the stars, so to speak.” “Then why are you here, eh? Why are you telling me this? Shouldn’t you openly manifest to the masses and speak to our world leaders?” the priest asked. “I mean, you’ll certainly get more believers and followers that way than you could through an established religion; that is by mere definition divisive and subject to detractors.” “I concur. Established religions…please don’t get me started on that subject and as for openly addressing the masses, well that poses the problem of interfering with free will. Can you imagine what people will do if a celestial being just started giving personal opinions on terrestrial matters?” Patriel retorted and continued, “As I was saying, it’s a matter of free will and no foreign interference much less that of a celestial nature would be allowed, or so it seemed until recently. The reason why I am confiding all of this with you, is that alien participation going beyond influence has already interfered and it is tipping the balance against you —and us.” The angel pushed closer the charred wood with an iron blow poke and continued, “Humankind has risen from the bestiality of early times to sublime creation in a never-ending struggle of give and take. One, in which I might add, in general terms and despite many stumbles, has had good

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prevailing over evil.” Pausing his poking for a second, the angel looked at the priest and continued. “The stage is so that a new generation, known to you as ‘Indigo,’ is ready to take over and by means of reasoning and spiritual advancement they could guide humankind through the final steps of your evolutionary journey.” “The Indigo children?” the priest asked. “Indigo men by now, Joseph,” Patriel replied and carried on “Amongst them, the Crystals, who as their most enlightened and freer individuals can effect change, are in grave danger.” “What kind of danger?” interrupted the priest. “The only kind there is. Real!” Patriel responded a bit annoyed by the incessant interruptions and after giving the priest a cold look for a couple seconds, kept on, “These individuals are a threat to the dark forces trying to stop change from happening and want to keep the status-quo on its relentless march toward Armageddon.” Glancing at the mortified priest, the angel reached for the cigarette resting on his lips and lit it up in a conciliatory gesture. “Therefore no effort will be spared in trying to kill them as they cannot be converted to their cause nor corrupted to their benefit. Unfortunately for us, some of these individuals have already been unequivocally murdered by these dark spirits.” On cue with his own words, Patriel produced from the inside pocket of his trail duster the day’s edition of La Repubblica newspaper, whose headline referred to the assassination of Arash Hoseini, the Iranian presidential candidate identified with secularism, the separation between church and state and who up to his death, reached increasing popularity levels among the electorate, despite his very recent incursion in the political scene. The priest grabbed the paper and said, “Yes, it was a real tragedy, more so considering the election is just around the corner. Please, go on.”

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“Look Joseph, in the past, evil has tried to go beyond influencing humankind and actively played a role in your businesses. It has not been able to do it so directly, or at least was not, up to the last winter solstice. Human suppression was off limits to all sides and demonic possession is at best, temporal, evident and too messy. For lack of a better word, one could say that the human body is allergic to it. The subject of infestation or host in the long run will invariably be killed if the spirit is not evicted.” Joseph instinctively placed his hand over the crucifix under his shirt and muttered, “Exorcism.” The angel hummed affirmatively and continued, “This is why it was been done by proxy. Let me explain. It is not the active player, leader or history maker the mischievous devil per se; rather, these demons will serve as teachers or facilitators for all those too-human evil doers.” “So, does this mean that all demons and angels can just materialize and act in our world at will?” “Well no, not precisely. Transubstantiation is a truly exceptional thing to accomplish by both bands. Not all of us have this gift. On our side, it is only the archangels, guardian angels and few respected elders, the ones that can self-materialize and enter into your domain. As for our foe, we suspect is quite the same, and if I may add, fortunately so. You don’t want material demons running wild and by the horde into your world, enough trouble exists as it is already. Nevertheless, some can and they had caused extraordinary harm already, and not that long ago either; just look back at what you people call your Second World War. “So what are you saying here, if I am inferring it correctly, is that for example, Hitler was human, but many of his top Nazi nuts were demons?” “Well, round about right, padre. Indeed, Hitler was human, but Dietrich Eckard, his teacher in occultism, known magician and some other members from the Thule Society’s inner circle, were not. You see Joseph, in this case, the

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facilitator Eckard and a few of the most abominable of Hitler’s henchmen, such as Heinrich Himmler, were deliberately planted there for the explicit benefit of the human executioner, in this case the Führer. Thus, having a human being as the ultimate provocateur of true evil was, and still is, men’s free will. Man is the one and only culprit of all your sorrows. Never mind manipulation, the last word was always yours.” “I agree there is no excuse, everybody is responsible for their own actions,” Joseph declared, exhaling one last tobacco puff and asked “Free will is the single simple constant of this equation, right? What about Stalin, eh?” “If you don’t mind, let’s leave the ‘who-is-who’ game for some other occasion. Now, as I was saying, regarding the one constant in the equation allegory, yes it is true. It is a universal canon, and not even Satan or his hordes could refrain from it.” Patriel let his words sink for a couple seconds, then he stood up from his chair and slowly walked toward the window, where he unpretentiously rested his arm against one of the book-shelves placed beside the windows’ wooden frame. After a brief moment of meditation, when Joseph pulled him out of his thoughts to ask if everything was alright, the angel turned, and with a sad look on his face, closed his argument. “But after this past winter’s solstice, with these direct assassinations, among some other new tactics recently shown to us, things, rules if you will, are changing and therefore the time for us to form an alliance against this threat has come. This battle has been raging intermittently on each of our own dominions from the conception of humankind and must now be jointly brought to an end.” The last canon blasts from Tchaikovsky’s traditional overture blasted out of the radio speakers, providing the audible backdrop for the quivering flames reflecting on the angel’s face, as the one true silent witness to the veracity of his words.

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The priest, deep in thoughtful meditation, soberly nodded his agreement.

Placitum The suspicions over Heathiane’s murder were confirmed when she failed to appear at the roll call summoned by recommendation of Patriel the same morning he and Joseph inspected the scorched patch on Rose Hill. The Greene Street loft in the SoHo district of Manhattan was used as quarters by the Novus Urbis, a newly formed legion assigned to the Opus et Edictum Division of the 2nd Angelic Myriad, and on this eventful night, was teeming with the higher-ranking angels commanding the sixty-two cohorts stationed in the city and its surrounding boroughs as well as with their human counterparts. “This cannot go unpunished!” Reneelah, the local legatus or general in charge demanded slamming her fist on the table. A multitude of “ayes” supporting the reprisal echoed inside the crowded loft. “I don’t see Heathiane’s protégé, Mullah Abdul-Haqq,” Ambassador Gina Oliver, an unattached Chargé d’affaires from the State Department, and associated with Briathos, one of the most experienced military tribunus, interrupted and asked, “Do we know if he is safe at the present time?” “He’s being guarded in the meantime by the Secret Service,” responded Francis Peart, Tribunus Ecanus’ associate and protégé, and Senior OO/NCS or Senior Operations Officer from the National Clandestine Service of the CIA, as well as Middle East expert. The legatus exchanged looks with both tribunus and after nodding in tacit agreement, raised her arms to quiet the boisterous crowd and called for their attention, “Brethren, comrades, please listen to me!” As the clamor extinguished, the angel lowered her arms and said, “What happened today is a turning point in the war we’ve been waging against the